I don't like horror movies. In fact, I've never watched one all the way through because I don't want to put images in my mind that will be with me the rest of my life. Oh sure, the constant dwelling on them may fade, but things like that have a way of resurfacing unannounced, like when BD is on a business trip for a week and I'm crawling into bed and hear a noise. I've spent many nights in agony thinking about "what might happen". I don't need to make things worse. Why would I choose to do that to myself?
The same applies for anything of a perverse or sexual nature. Other people may do horrible things, but why do I want to put those ideas in my mind? While a naive flight attendant of 22, I happened to see a postcard of a perverse sexual nature on a street corner in Athens, Greece. It was in one of those turn-racks, right next to the picture of a sunset over the Parthenon that read "Wish you were here". That image is now burned into my brain and pops up at the worst times. Before that, I hadn't even imagined such aberrant things were possible. I'll remember that image until the day I die. Is it possible to be too sensitive in this area? I don't think so. Every act starts in the mind. Who knows where one step will lead?
Anyway, while at the library with my girls the other day, I walked by the shelves in the teen section and one book in particular caught my eye. It was obviously new and expensive. On the cover of the thick, glossy book jacket was a photo of a pretty little girl's dress made of white silk strewn with tiny pink roses. I was intrigued by the photo and by the title, "Living Dead Girl". The back breifly mentioned that it was an abduction story. I like mystery, especially if there's a happy ending as the pretty cover seemed to indicate, so while my girl's were in the children's section, I sat down and started to read the first few pages.
I wish I hadn't.
It was an abduction story, all right. Told from the first person perspective of a 15 year old girl who'd been abducted at ten and kept as a sexual slave by her captor. It wasn't a fantasy, like a vampire novel, or a Harry Potter tome. It was reality. It was told in great detail. Told graphically. There were things in those first five pages that will haunt me the rest of my life, details you would never hear about on the news or even said outloud on the street. Those pages deeply depressed me to the point that I walked around distracted and on the verge of tears for a few days. I tried to stop replaying it in my head. I begged God to let me stop thinking about it, and the worst part of it is that this book was in our public library that our tax dollars are paying for and was in the TEEN SECTION.
I admit that I'm a little naive, especially for a forty year old woman. But I don't think I'm a prude, nor am I am I legalistic in any way. I may not agree with what an adult chooses to read or fill their heads with, but I don't have the right to tell an adult what to do (unless they are a serial killer. :-) Then I might tell them to stop killing people!) But it scares me to death to think an unsuspecting young mind could innocently pick up that book and have pictures of these sexual horrors in their heads. And even scarier is that someone made the decision that this was suitable reading for teenagers. If someone is caught doing the things that were done in this book, we call them a monster, more animal than human, someone without a conscience. But reading about them being done to a child is OK. And hey, it's enlightening for young minds to be exposed to all sorts of things, right? I pray every day for the Lord's protection to be around my childrens' thoughts.